Chapter 112 …
Even though the moon shone brightly, the study at dawn—its thick curtains drawn—was dim and shadowy.
“Ugh…”
Cyrus’s face twisted in an instant as he leaned half-reclined on the sofa with his eyes closed.
Cold sweat ran down his pale forehead, and his heart pounded rapidly.
The veins on the back of his hand bulged as he gripped the end of the sofa tightly.
But Cyrus could not open his eyes.
After spending a fairly satisfying time at Lizzie’s cabin, a nightmare that came at an unexpected moment clung stubbornly to his weakened mind.
—You will take the test this afternoon.
Archer Blanchard’s aide often gave tests without warning.
Even though he knew those sudden tests would turn young Cyrus’s mind completely blank.
The child’s cheeks—still soft with baby fat—turned pale in an instant.
At the same time, his sky-blue eyes widened.
His youthful, clear face quickly filled with tears, but the man did not so much as blink.
—B-but…
—Surely you are not about to say you are unprepared?
—…
—Even if I dragged in some idiot farmer off the street, he would understand after being taught this many times.
The man had never taught him “many times,” not even once.
But Cyrus had never said that out loud.
Because he already knew the cold, mocking reply the man would give.
—Too stupid to remember even that, I suppose?
So young Cyrus had no choice but to nod obediently, unable to hide his anxious expression.
His short black hair swayed softly with the motion.
—…Yes.
After the man left the room, Cyrus tried to recall what he had learned—but failed.
In truth, it was only natural he couldn’t remember.
Too much unfamiliar information had been crammed into his head all at once.
But Cyrus believed it was because he himself was stupid.
The young boy never once doubted the statement:
“Cyrus Blanchard is a stupid failure.”
—W-what should I do…? Isn’t there some way…? Ah, if I could just read the book one more time…
Then I think I could remember.
But Cyrus did not have the book.
The man would bring the necessary books for lessons and take them back immediately afterward.
Which meant the only place he could see the book again was…
—Father’s study…
Young Cyrus’s heart began to pound rapidly.
Because he remembered the rumor that anyone who entered his father’s study would die.
…But…
—Father left for the capital the day before yesterday…
He probably wouldn’t return for nearly a month.
So if he sneaked in, looked only at what he needed, and carefully put everything back…
If he read the book and did well on the test…
…wouldn’t Father finally praise him?
At that moment, a faint hope flickered in young Cyrus’s blue eyes.
“…Don’t… go…”
A low murmur slipped from Cyrus as he breathed roughly with his eyes closed.
“Don’t go…”
His voice was a tangled mess of desperation and despair.
As he chased after his younger self heading toward the fourth floor, Cyrus muttered it again and again.
His face—now more fittingly described as beautiful rather than merely handsome—was colored with pain.
But unfortunately, no one was there to hear him and wake him.
And so the nightmare easily dragged him into the study.
—Wow.
Despite his tension, a small exclamation escaped young Cyrus.
Having grown up in a shabby cabin, it was his first time seeing so many books lined up together.
His cheeks were already faintly flushed with a child’s lingering curiosity.
—Ah—no. Hurry… I need to find History of the Empire and Social Etiquette.
Fortunately, the books were thick, so Cyrus didn’t have to search long.
Just as he pulled the books from the corner shelf and tried to read the necessary parts—
He felt it.
It was extremely subtle.
His untouched skin prickled, and something seemed to buzz as if calling to him.
Following that strange sensation, Cyrus lifted his head and discovered an unusual book placed on the very top of the shelf.
—That is…
The small, old book had worn corners, as if it had been handled often.
There was no dust on it, and its title was faintly stamped in gold on the thin spine.
He thought he could read it—but soon realized it wasn’t written in the imperial language.
Then why did I think I could read it?
Swallowing the unanswered question, young Cyrus kept glancing at the strange book.
—…No. There’s no time.
He shook his small head.
Instead of taking that out, he needed to quickly read what he came for and leave.
His small white hand hurriedly flipped through Social Etiquette.
—I have to read it all…
But the words wouldn’t enter his eyes at all.
That unknown book kept drawing his attention back.
It was as if an invisible force were pulling him.
Anxious blue eyes flicked toward the study clock and back again.
Maybe—just maybe—he had time to quickly check it.
—I’ll just check quickly… and come back down.
As if making up his mind, young Cyrus got up and dragged over the ladder.
His small but nimble body climbed it without difficulty.
The closer he got to the strange book, the more strongly the sensation shook his heart.
Gulp.
Just as Cyrus carefully pulled the book from the shelf—
Clunk.
Rrrrrrrumble.
With the sound of something catching, the bookshelf opened.
—W-what?!
Startled, Cyrus clutched the ladder and stared into the opened shelf.
—What… is this…
The inside of the bookshelf was dark—like the mouth of a monster.
There was light in the distance, but the corridor leading to it was pitch black.
S-scary…
Terrified, Cyrus climbed down the ladder while holding the book.
At that moment—
—Ow!
A sharp prick shot through his palm, and Cyrus dropped the book.
The book that fell to the floor opened to a familiar page—as if it had always been read there.
A pressed red flower was tucked between the pages.
—A flower…?
It felt familiar.
As if he had seen that flower somewhere before.
Maybe it was from a memory he had forgotten because he was too stupid.
Then… could it be a memory with Mother…?
As Cyrus curled in on himself and stared at the fallen flower—
Whoooosh.
Cold wind flowed out from inside the opened shelf.
Goosebumps rose along his arm, and a peculiar scent brushed his nose.
It smelled like paper—but also like dried herbs and fresh grass.
It was strangely familiar.
—…No.
Cyrus muttered, restraining his wandering curiosity.
Don’t go in.
If Father finds out I came this far, he’ll never forgive me.
But before he knew it, his feet were already moving toward the inside of the shelf.
Just for a moment… it should be okay, right?
It was an irresistible, fateful pull—
Though neither the young Cyrus nor the present Cyrus knew that.
The hand that had been gripping the sofa as if to crush it suddenly fell limp.
Instead of the carpet, his trembling fingertips touched a book.
The book lying carelessly on the carpet—seemingly just dropped—was the one he had brought from the secret study, filled with indecipherable writing.
A faint but distinct scent drifted from it—something like dried medicinal herbs, yet also fresh grass.
“Ah…”
At that moment, Cyrus’s entire body began to tremble.
The secret study of now was not very different from the one back then.
If there was a difference, it was that the ink bottle on the central table was full.
Among the countless unreadable books, Cyrus picked up the only one written in the imperial language.
When he opened it at random, there was an illustration of the back of a man standing beneath a large grove of trees with both arms spread wide.
—“At some point, they appeared… and settled one by one in the village…”
Just as Cyrus’s young voice echoed through the study while haltingly reading the passage—
—…Huh?
The hallway outside the study had grown noisy.
Cyrus only noticed by pure chance.
A maid rushing down the corridor with a long mop had bumped into the study door.
Bang!
At the loud sound, Cyrus jerked his head up, hurriedly shoved the book back, and stepped outside.
Fortunately, the study door was closed.
He could hear servants running about in a hurry.
—What? The Duke has returned?
—Yes! The carriage just came in!
Cyrus’s eyes widened even further.
With a sharp gasp, he quickly returned Social Etiquette and History of the Empire to their places.
Then he hurried up the ladder and shoved the gray book with the unknown script back onto the shelf.
—Ugh!
After pushing with his whole body to barely close the bookshelf, Cyrus quietly slipped out of the study.
—Phew…
A faint sigh escaped him—
—and then a stern, fastidious voice rang out.
—Young Master.
—Gasp!
Turning his head, Cyrus came face to face with the head maid, Bernadette Ward, dressed in a perfectly wrinkle-free navy skirt.
—…
—…
A brief silence passed between them.
She’ll definitely tell Father, right?
Young Cyrus’s body began to tremble violently.
He already didn’t like Mrs. Ward’s cold, dry expression, and meeting her here made it even more frightening.
Expecting a harsh rebuke at any moment, Cyrus squeezed his eyes shut.
But the scolding never came.
Instead, he only felt a firm hand grasp his forearm.
—Come. The Duke has arrived.
Mrs. Ward spoke without even looking at him—as if she had seen nothing.
The faint warmth from her slender fingers slowly calmed Cyrus’s trembling body.
That’s a relief.
Young Cyrus thought.
I’ll get through this without anything happening.
He did not know how foolish and naïve that thought was.
Nor that the red flower bookmark he had failed to retrieve in his haste lay fallen on the study floor.
“Your Grace.”
“H-huh…!”
“Your Grace.”
“No… go back…”
“Young Master!”
The voice wasn’t loud enough to ring his ears—but it was clear.
Cyrus’s eyes snapped open.
He bolted upright, his violet eyes glinting strangely in the moonlight.
“The curtains…”
“I have just drawn them.”
The one who spoke was Bernadette Ward, still wearing the same wrinkle-free navy skirt.
Aside from the wrinkles around her eyes and a few strands of gray hair, she looked exactly as she had in the dream.
“…Mrs. Ward.”
At Cyrus’s groan-like call, a faint smile appeared on Bernadette Ward’s stern, dry face.
“I haven’t heard that title in a long time.”
“….”
“Are you alright?”
Cyrus, about to nod out of habit, suddenly paused when he noticed his hand brushing his forehead was damp.
“You seemed to be having a nightmare, so I took the liberty of waking you.”
“….”
“Please stay here. I will bring some water—”
“Why…”
Before Bernadette could finish—
Cyrus asked in a slightly cracked voice.
“…Why didn’t you tell Father back then…?”
Bernadette Ward’s blue-gray eyes sank quietly as she instantly understood what “back then” meant.
